


The Seraphim Paradox

by feardubh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Dean Winchester, Angel Sam Winchester, Biblical References, Demons, Fallen Angels, Gen, Human Castiel, M/M, Roleswap, Season/Series 05, Summoning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feardubh/pseuds/feardubh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is on a hunt with his brother and needs some assistance, so he finds an old summoning spell and plucks an angel to earth. What he doesn't expect is a six-one wannabe cowboy with a pie addiction to show in the stead of some benign celestial being, but hey, you take what you get.</p>
<p>Set mid-season five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The sun had pulled its last warming rays over the horizon more than two hours and the city had settled itself comfortably in the darkness. Streetlights illuminated the darkened pavement, flashing on the shiny cars streaking below. It was a quiet night with the usual post dinner traffic as people commuted home or to nightclubs, and over the downtown skyline music could be heard spilling from open bar doors. The roof of the town’s only Motel Six was quiet. It was in a sleepier district, right off the freeway in a little cluster of fast food restaurants for truckers looking for a rest and tired travellers.

Dean sat on the edge of the motel’s roof and sighed softly, kicking his feet against the stucco wall. The tips of his fingers trailed over the edge into empty space; his wings curved behind him. He made a soft noise in his throat that sounded something like a hum, but then he cocked his head as if listening for the reverberations. After a minute or so, he nodded to himself and pushed off from the roof.

The Ping had told him exactly what he thought it would, that the tangle of energy in question was still occupying some space to the east in a touristy district even quieter than this one despite the early hour. He wheeled once, turing a broad loop high in a column of warm air before setting off towards where the sun would rise the next morning.

Paying no attention to the pedestrians far below- not that anyone ever thought to look up, and even if they did they wouldn’t see him when he was on the third plane. Human sight was very limited; of the seven planes anyone with any sense operated on, they usually only saw things on the first. Sensitive people could sometimes glimpse a hazy second, and cats saw clearly the first three planes. It was a funny day, when humans were outdone by felines. Regardless, there were seven planes of progressive Truth. The first was all physical, bodies and the like, and the seventh was pure manifestation of spirit. For Dean, that was where his true form showed in all of its shining glory.

He landed with a soft thump on another roof, his fingers ghosting over the ragged shingles as he settled into a gargoylian crouch. It was an old bed and breakfast by the looks of it, been there for a while and now out of business. Still, white picket fence, rockers on the wide Louisiana plantation style porch- it must have been a nice B&B back in the day. By human standards. Whatever.

Dean sent out another Ping, relaxing as he felt it return almost immediately with the electric taste of energy. Close. Right below him, actually; leaning cautiously over the edge of the roof, Dean spotted the unscreened window and gauged how hard it would be to get the leverage to slide it open. Hmm. Easy. He fanned his wings out once, twice, to let the cool night air seep away the heat they’d accumulated during the flight.

Now there was nothing to do but wait for Sam, and they could retrieve the stone together and be off.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Castiel looked up from the curling pages of the book clasped in his hands; the last words of the spell had barely passed his lips and his brother was already interrupting with his doubts. “Yes, Gabriel,” he sighed for the umpteenth time. “We’ve employed other spells from this book in the past. We have assured its authenticity.”

Gabriel shook his head, gold locks bouncing, and paced along the back wall. The smell of burning flowers still hung about the room from the summonings, undercut by the remnants of the sage they’d smudged the old warehouse with before they set up. Or rather, Castiel smudged; his older brother took it upon himself to be sure that the nearest gas station was well stocked with cheap lollipops.

Now, his older brother’s footsteps echoed dully on the worn wooden floor as he placed the book back on the table they’d found. It was an old tome, its leather binding scratched and crumbling. The pages inside were yellow and filled with faded words inked in a spidery hand. Next to it was a neat circle he’d painted on the wood earlier that day, the squiggles dancing in the low light of the candles. In the center of a copper bowl resting in the center of the circle, smoke curled sluggishly from the remains of dandelion and sandalwood, but a few needles of charred rosemary still poked hopefully from the ash.

Gabriel opened his mouth to complain again. “I don’t think- _shit_.”

A tremor ran through the floor with a groan that made Castiel stumble and wonder just how many of the old boards beneath his feet were rotten as the sound of lightning crackled somewhere beyond, quickly followed by a powerful boom of thunder that seemed to roll in the air longer than it should. Then it was the lights, bulbs popping and sending showers of sparks over their heads. A wind picked up and rattled the roof, sending shutters banging and the warehouse’s timbers creaking ominously. Castiel recalled the picture drawn on the page opposite the spell as he clutched the table as the ground shook with an earthquake’s ferocity: a single orb-like eye flanked on all sides by six massive wings. What exactly was coming to answer his call?

A loud crack echoed through the room as the old planked they’d barred the door with split in two in a cloud of ricocheting splinters and the door slowly opened inward. The wind sighed softly but over the pops of the lights he could hear footsteps. Lurching over the floor as it heaved and buckled like a sea at storm, Castiel snatched his sawed-off from the table and joined his brother in the center of the room.

It strode in like it was the easiest thing in the world; sparks showered around its head like a halo as it passed beneath a row of lights. It’s face was angular and sharp, hair spiked in an overgrown, faux-military style. A long faded duster flapped behind it as it walked; beneath that it wore a plaid shirt unbuttoned over dark cotton, and denim tucked into scuffed leather boots. Castiel noticed as it came forward that its legs were slightly bowed. The knowledge was strangely comforting.

It stopped, and Gabriel leveled his gun threateningly. Castiel found himself shivering; as he peering into those too-green eyes he felt a flicker of the vast, ancient intelligence within. This creature probably knew where every protective sigil they’d spray painted to the walls came from and could tell them the names of the people who came up with them. Had seen the rise and fall of every civilization. Had spoken to God. It chilled him, and as he watched the creature open its lips to speak he held his breath.

“Could you please explain to me why exactly you summoned me in the middle of a job?”

He blinked. “Uh, what?”

It- no, _he_ \- rolled his eyes and sighed sharply. “I was in the middle of a job. You know. Heavenly duties? Do you not know how summonings work?”

“Of course we do,” Gabriel snapped impatiently, ignoring the plea in Castiel’s eyes as he turned to silence his brother. “Some invoke specific entities to commune with or to do the bidding of the spellcaster. Others send a call for any creature to answer. Crossroad spells, for example-”

The angel was smiling, and Castiel had never seen a more terrible smile in his life. “I’m not here to do your bidding, Gabriel Novak. I see you’re just as much a nuisance as your namesake.” he chuckled. “When you cast the spell, the call latched on to the nearest angel- me- and pulled him here. I was in the middle of something,” the angel growled balefully. “What do you want?”

“Who are you?” Castiel asked, glancing warningly at his brother. He was proud that his voice did not waver, though something about the way the angel’s eyes gleamed made him wonder if he could sense how terrified he was.

“Dean.” came the reply.

“That’s it? Doesn’t sound very angel-like,”

Dean took a step towards Gabriel and raised two fingers. As he touched his forehead, the sound of whispering filled the room and Gabriel slumped to the ground.

“That’s better,” the angel muttered. “What an asshole.” He shifted his gaze back to Castiel. “Give me the skinny so I can get the hell out of here, okay? I got a brother waitin’ on me.”

“Uhm.” For a second Castiel was at a loss for what to say. “My brother and I were hunting something, but it doesn’t make sense to us, and after a time passed and people continued to meet grisly ends we agreed that we could use a little assistance.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Okay, yeah. But with what?”

“Well, we’re not really certain,” Castiel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. “A series of mixed and confusing omens began appearing. Bizarre storms, animal attacks- there was a man in Dallas who reported a “black eyed woman”-” here Castiel made airquotes, which seemed to amuse the angel- “breaking into his home and abducting his child. A woman in Los Angeles did the same.”

“Stuff like that happens all the time,” replied Dean with a shrug. “People usually don’t pay attention.”

“We do,” Castiel insisted. He felt a rising frustration- how could an angel be so nonchalant? Where was the fire, the brimstone, the awful fury that brought men to their knees? “And we require your help. _People have been dying._ ”

“People die all the time.”

Castiel glared frostily, and the angel sighed.

“Look,” he explained. “If you want my help with that kind of thing, I’ll steer you around until my wings rot off and it’ll do no good. See, what you’re seeing- these omens, the deaths- that’s the apocalypse starting. The Devil escaped last year, didn’t you hear?” Dean grinned darkly. “Two brothers let him out of the box. This is just the oncoming storm.”

That’s the apocalypse starting. He said it so easily, with that glimmer in his eyes, like it was nothing of importance. Yeah, it looks sunny out. Might rain later. That’s the apocalypse starting. You going to Mrs Johnson’s going-away party? Maybe to an angel who’d seen it all, it was nothing. Maybe Dean had fought in the War of the Morning Star- scripture said the angels rallied with God to put Lucifer in the pit, didn’t it?

“We didn’t know.”

Dean fixed him with a pointed stare. “Does that change anything?” he asked softly. Castiel bit his lip as the words cut into his heart.

“No,” he replied slowly. “But we’re trying. That’s why we need your help.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” the angel grinned again. “That’s against the rules. No no, don’t look so down, I’d really love to help, but I got work to do, and it’s all taken care of.”

“Taken care of? The apocalypse?” No way. How does one just “take care of” an apocalypse? Castiel shifted his weight from foot to foot uncertainly, feeling the boards give and bend beneath him. “I don’t believe you.” He’d meant it to sound angry and fierce, but the words came out childish and he felt color rising to his cheeks as Dean stared incredulously at him.

“Huh? Don’t believe what?”

“Any of it,” he replied sharply. “What kind of angel are you, to say that the apocalypse is taken care of? _People are dying_ , and you’ll just go back to your business? Aren’t you supposed to protect humanity?”

A warning peal of thunder boomed outside as Dean stepped forward and as the floor began to shake again Castiel caught a glimpse of that ancient intelligence as Dean’s eyes narrowed.

And then he began to glow. Dean lit up like a beacon, like his very skin was illuminated from within; the light was so bright that Castiel wanted to raise a hand to his eyes but he stopped himself as shadows began to form behind Dean. The coalesced in the shape of wings that flared out from his shoulders like a hawk’s and as he watched they flexed and rose above his head threateningly.

“What kind of angel,” asked Dean softly. His eyes glowed with a strange, otherworldly light that was neither green nor blue nor the gold that shown from his skin but rather a strange mash of the three. “What kind of angel?” he repeated, and his voice was like thunder and the sound of the waves against rock, unyielding and unending like the sea and just as dark and vast. His voice howled with the sound of a desert storm and the raging hurricane, it buzzed with static and power and the anger of a thousand screaming, snarling demons.

And then suddenly, Dean seemed to sigh and the light faded; the shadows of his wings tucked to his back and vanished.

“A poor example of one,” he muttered. With the sound of fluttering wings, he vanished.


	3. Chapter 3

_A poor example of one._

The words echoed in Castiel’s mind as he sat at the hotel’s scuffed desk. Long ago the screen of his computer had darkened; he was supposed to be checking up on omens, but nothing interesting had popped up and now his fingers rested idly on the faux-wood surface. The country was falling into a downward spiral, that’s all he really knew; crops failing, but not enough to cause panic. Minor increase in violent crimes. Shittier economy. Nothing really new.

_A poor example of one._

What did that even mean? He was a poor angel? Well, something could be said for his attitude- a little less fire-and-lightning than Castiel had expected, the power underlying that easy drawl was apparent nonetheless. Maybe he was rebellious? But no, Dean claimed his superiors were in charge of the apocalypse so he couldn’t intervene on his behalf.

And speaking of the apocalypse, he and Gabriel were still drawing a big nothing on how to stop it. All Castiel knew was that they had to- he had to. It was his fault in the first place anyway, after that demon had tricked him into opening the seal. Gabriel had the politeness to claim not to know exactly what happened, saying that it had been too dark and too panicky, but Castiel knew it had been his fault.

“A poor example of one,” he murmured to himself, tapping his index finger on the table with the rhythm of the words.

Gabriel chose that moment to open the door and stagger in. Blood was crusted in the fold of his mouth, and the skin around one of his eyes was an ugly purple, making his already strange golden gaze even more rakish. “Jesus,” Castiel murmured as he rushed to his brother’s side and peered uncertainly at his face. “Did you get in another bar fight?”

“No,” groaned Gabriel in reply, waving Castiel’s reaching hands away wearily. “Demon. Jumped me. Out by the river,”

“Are you okay? You should carry the knife when you go out,” Castiel murmured. His brother shrugged and moved to the bathroom where he flipped on the light and examined his face in the mirror before turning on the tap and dabbing a wet cloth at the cracked skin around his mouth.

“I didn’t get her,” came the angry mutter.

Castiel sighed. “We can re-engage her when we go out later,” he said, but Gabriel was already cutting him off.

“Can’t,” he grunted “She said she was part of a bigger operation. I’m not sure if we can handle a bunch of demons with one little knife.”

“We’ll figure something out, I guess,” replied Castiel tiredly. Who even knew if that demon was part of a nest? Not like they could trust the word of a devil, and it would just get them stressed out to prepare for something that big if it was just one or two.

Gabriel snorted. “Why don’t you call one of your angel buddy?”

He’d been very out of sorts since Castiel woke him up at the hotel after Dean had left; apparently getting put to sleep by an angel did nothing for one’s mood, so when he’d risen that night it was only to growl about being left alone and then stomp outside for a drink. The morning hadn’t made it any better.

But having an angel on their side might make things a lot easier. “I’m not sure how. But Dean could be really useful, I would imagine.”

“It was your idea to call him in the first place,” Gabriel looked up and met his eyes in the mirror, his gaze strangely distorted by the bruises. “You should call him back.”

* * *

Castiel waited until Gabriel had gone out to grab a bite to eat to call Dean. It took him long enough to get his brother out, any many repetitive “no, I’m really not hungry” statements before he left, but Castiel had decided that it would be best to invite the angel without his brother; they hadn’t gotten along so well last time. When Gabriel’s engine faded into the distant hum of street traffic, Castiel moved to the rough center of the small hotel room and shut his eyes.

“Uhm... Angel Dean? If you, uh, have a moment, I would like to talk to you. I know we didn’t have the most favorable of meetings, but my brother and I have a proposition for you.”

Silence answered him. Feeling foolish, Castiel cracked one eye open-

“Damn. That was awkward,” came that low voice over the sound of fluttering wings. Castiel turned around quickly and saw Dean standing by the door with another angel, this one shaggy haired and dressed in a dark suit. “Please don’t ever do that again ever.”

The newcomer was taller than Dean, who was in the same duster as the night before. His eyes were a thoughtful hazel, and his dark hair reached his shoulders. As he noticed Castiel’s eyes on him, he nodded in greeting.

“So, what do you want with us today, huh?”

The little speech he’d formulated earlier died on his tongue as he took in the two angels standing before him, and Castiel felt himself flush. “I- where do you go when you aren’t here on Earth?”

As the words passed his lips, he saw Dean frown as if taken aback. The other angel glanced at him, and then replied cautiously: “It depends. Sometimes we return to Heaven. Other times, we go to a place that- well, it’s hard to describe. It’s a place humans sometimes visit when they dream; there, we can rest and recuperate without making the trip to Heaven.”

“What do you do when you’re not resting?”

“We work.” he replied gently. This angel was very different from Dean; where Dean was rough and teasing, almost annoyed, this one was calm and quiet. “Last night we were sent to retrieve a dragon’s Pearl that had been sold at an auction last summer.”

He’d heard of dragon Pearls before; powerful magical objects containing massive amounts of energy. Like grenades, they could be thrown in combat and would explode on contact. Still, they were very rare- some said nonexistent, fading with the last of the dragons- and Castiel was more than a little surprised. “They sent you to pick it up? Isn’t that a little... low for angels?”

Dean’s lips curled into a smile. “Yeah,” he shrugged. “We’re a bit high-level for that sort of thing, but-”

“That kind of thing is generally third sphere,” the other angel said, silencing Dean with a look.

“Angels like me and Sam-” Dean glared at his brother- “We’re supposed to stay in heaven. Unless big stuff is going on.”

“Spheres?” Castiel asked.

“How do I explain it?” the taller angel sighed, pondering aloud as Castiel watching him with interest. “To start, there are three holy spheres, and different angels operate within these spheres. The first is where Dean is from, and it is composed of seraphim and cherubim mostly. The second sphere is made of the holy guides and counsellors, the ones who make sure Heaven is running smoothly. The third is where most of the angels on Earth come from; they are malakhim, archangels. Footsoldiers, messengers, that sort of thing.”

“So why are you two here?”

Dean coughed. “Things have changed a lot since the Morning War,” he replied cautiously. “Sometimes seraphim and archangels are sent to Earth. Sam and I used to command entire garrisons of malakhim- I actually outranked him- but over the years angels have died, and order has changed.”

“Huh,” Castiel said, his eyes narrowing. Something about the way Sam was shifting from foot to foot, the way Dean was for the first time looking at the ground instead of meeting his eyes made him feel like they weren’t being entirely truthful. “Anyways. I had something I wanted to ask of you, Dean.”

Sam looked at him sadly. “As my brother already told you, there is nothing we can do. Our superiors have planned the course of the apocalypse, and it is not our place to intervene.”

“Not about that,” he backpedaled quickly. “Gabriel and I may have stumbled on a minor demon operation-”

“Abandoned house off Aubry Lane,” Dean cut in. “Yeah, we’re aware.”

“So you’ll assist us?” he asked hopefully.

“Didn’t say that,” the angel smirked in reply. “What’s in it for us?”

That made him pause. “Demons are supposed to be the enemies of Heaven, are they not? Isn’t it your duty to purge them from the earth?”

“It is,” returned Sam. “However, it is not our duty to meddle with the affairs of humans.”

There was the sound of wings, and both angels vanished. Castiel looked forlornly about the room, but the brother were well and truly gone.

* * *

“Are you sure this will work?” Castiel hissed as Gabriel crept towards the old house. It looked like crap in the half light of the dirty streetlight; peeling green paint, falling shingles, shutters and screens that had seen better days. The wooden porch was probably rotted through, or worse, would creak so badly when they stepped on it that any demon inside would come racing out.

“No,” replied his brother, panting as he shifted the curved knife in his grip. “But since you couldn’t rally the forces, it’s all we got.”

Gabriel hurried up the front steps and onto the porch, pausing on the faded welcome mat before the front door. It was stained with a dark liquid, and made the air smell faintly of decay. As the heavy air stirred in a breeze, the golden-haired hunter rapped smartly on the door three times.

A woman with long blond hair opened it.

“Hi,” Gabriel said cheerily. Her mouth widened to a plump O as he shoved the knife in her chest and twisted, a glow lighting her skeleton from behind. As her body slumped to the ground, a man walked calmly to take her place, his eyes a disarming snowy white as if he had no pupils.

“Gabriel and Castiel,” he purred. “What a pleasure-”

The steel flashed, biting deep into his belly, but he twisted at the last moment and the blow curved off its mark. “Nice to see you too, bitch.”

The demon laughed darkly as blood and sparks oozed from the wound and punched Gabriel in the collar, sending him flying back to hit one of the porch’s support columns. Then he rounded on Castiel, grinning wickedly, and landed a backhand that sent him spinning. A second and then a third demon peered through the door as the first punched him again; he planted a blow ofhis own but was forced back as the demon swung wildly, tumbling off of the porch steps and sprawling in the grass below.

“Well, if this isn’t just one bit shitfest,” observed a voice dryly. Castiel strained his neck; Dean sat on the roof, his brother standing impassively behind him. With an easy jump, he dropped and landed before the demon. “Hello, Asmodeus,”

“Dean,” the demon crooned, taking a casual step backwards. A third joined to two at the door. “It’s been a while, thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“Could never forget that ugly mug of yours,” replied the angel. Very deliberately, he stepped forward.

On the grass, Castiel was getting his breath back; he turned his head and saw Gabriel lurching to his feet as blood trickled down his temple. As he pushed himself, up, he watched Asmodeus begin circling Dean. Sam took one look at the crowd below and shimmered out of view, but his brother bared his teeth and twitched his fingers reflexively.

Dean looked beyond the man before him, and the trio in the door flinched back. “Well, Luvart, Olivier- is that you, Baal? Quit hiding, it really doesn’t suit you.”

“Winchester,” the demon in the back hissed through curled lips. He had hair so blond it looked white and vicious black eyes.

The angel chuckled as Castiel heaved himself to his feet. “Well, Cas, gotta hand it to ya,” he said, turning back to grin at him. “You really can pick ‘em-”

The moment Dean’s eyes were off him, Asmodeus threw himself into motion, his hands clawing like blades as he struck the angel in the jaw. Dean hardly flinched- looked like he hadn’t been hit at all- and calmly pulled a long silver blade into view. Golden light bled from Asmodeus’s eyes and mouth as he thrust the weapon home with a crunch through his ribs. Even as the body dropped into a smoking heap he was striding off to the house, his duster flapping behind him. At the door the trio turned to run until with a flutter of wings Sam materialized behind them in the house and a blinding light appeared at his palms as he smote the two nearest him. The last glanced about like a trapped animal and then bolted for the door.

Dean caught him just as he reached the edge of the porch; as soon as he saw that he had no escape, the demon paused and retched forth a black smoke that curled up and out like a snake. Dean reached out and pushed, drawing the demon’s spirit back into the mouth of its vessel and then burning it from the inside. As the body slumped over, the angel wiped his hand on the front of his duster and turned to Castiel. Gabriel staggered over, and Sam stepped easily over the fallen demons to join them.

“Four archdemons,” he murmured, giving Dean a long look. “Asmodeus hasn’t been seen for centuries.” Dean nodded, and something seemed to pass between the brothers.

“Wait, so those four were _archdemons_?” Gabriel asked incredulously.

“Yup,” Dean smirked. “Notice the white eyes? I’ve got to hand it to you, it’s a wonder you didn’t get your ass handed to you earlier today,” he said. The he paused, squinting at Gabriel who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “You’ve got what, three bruised ribs? One busted?”

“I’m fine,” was the sharp reply, but Dean was already moving forward, a look in concentration in his eyes. A sharp, cringe-inducing grinding crack echoed as he touched two fingers to Gabriel’s forehead, and then his brother doubled over with a cough.

“What did you do to him?” Castiel exclaimed warily as he rushed to his brother’s side. Gabriel straightened and pushed several fingers probingly about his chest with a grimace.

Dean looked oddly pleased with himself. “I fixed him,”

The taller angel stepped forward, brushing his hair from his eyes. “If I were you, I would get back to that hotel, rest up a bit. If there are this many archangels in the area, it means trouble.”

“You took care of them just fine,” Castiel pointed out.

Sam gave him a strange look, and he sensed something shifting in his face like what he’d seen in Dean’s eyes the night previous; monstrously powerful energy, and intelligence so old it scarcely saw him. “We will not be subjected to your whim, Castiel. We are heavenly soldiers, not dogs to attack at your call.”

“Even so,” he swallowed his apprehension and pressed onwards. “You came today. Why?”

This time it was Dean who answered. “Because we wanted to,” he barked. “Archdemons- we can deal with those. It’s our job.” He crossed his arms. “Asmodeus- look. We knew him.”

Gabriel rubbed his neck. “So?”

“Wait,” Shooting his brother a look and then shifting to peer beyond the angels before him, Castiel stared hard at the smoldering corpse crumpled in the dying grass. “You knew him? How?”

Dean snorted. “How do you think? Archdemons were angels before they fell,” he growled, tugging at the cuff of his coat. With that, he turned back to the house as if to enter, but instead disappeared with the sound of wings. Sam nodded in farewell and followed.


	4. Chapter 4

“What do you think that demon meant, when he called them Winchesters?” Castiel asked over coffee the next morning. Gabriel shrugged and returned to his pancakes.

“Dunno,” he replied though a mouthful of cakes, wiping syrup from the corner of his mouth. “It’s a brand of rifle.”

“I know,” Castiel frowned. “Invented in 1873 by Oliver Winchester, who recreated the Henry rifle that had been patented by Benjamin Henry.”

“Mhmm.”

Everything the angels had said and done since he summoned Dean bothered him, from the poor example of one comment to knowing all four of the archdemons. Could it have been that Dean and Sam knew those angels before they fell? Maybe they worked together.

“But you have to admit, it is strange that four archdemons were here. We’ve never even seen one.”

This bit at least seemed to interest his brother; Gabriel leaned back and pulled something from his jacket. It landed with a thump on the table, causing one of the other Denny’s patrons to stare at them but Castiel watched with interest as he thumbed to a page and spun the organizer toward him. The page was a journal entry from ‘98, and written in their father’s neat handwriting.

Today Chuck and I finished up the rougarou case in Louisiana, and were refueling at a gas station when the place was attacked by a group of demons. The leader was different than the rest; his eyes were pure white. We managed to kill all but the leader, who left his body before Chuck and I could slay him. His spirit was a curious white smoke.

Later Chuck found a description of such a demon in his copy of Sebastien Michaelis’s Admirable History. It was written that demons of a higher level possess more formidable powers and their auras are a strange white or grey as opposed to the black of common demons or the red of pact-making demons. This is because these archdemons were not once evil men, but fallen angels, and the corruption of their holy grace has marked them as walking blasphemes.

“Do you think Dad knew about angels?”

“I don’t know,” replied Gabriel. “He alluded to them all the time, but I think if he ever met one, he would have written it down, don’t you think?”

Sighing, Castiel returned to his eggs. “Yeah.”

They passed the next moment in an uneasy quiet that swam beneath the diner’s low buzz of conversation and the clinking of cutlery.

“What about Chuck, though? Should we call him about this?”

“And tell him what?” Gabriel snorted. “That we summoned a pair of feathered assholes and found a nest of archdemons? I appreciate Chuck’s help as much as you do, but there isn’t anything he can do to help here.”

“We could ask him to do a little research,” Castiel persisted, laying down his fork and folding his arms on the table. “See what he can find about angels.”

“Fine.” Flicking away his fork, Gabriel took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. “But I’ll make the call.”

Later they cruised around the little town. It was about time that they headed off to find another case, but Castiel was unconvinced that they’d seen the last of the demon infestation, so he and Gabriel rode around for a few hours while they decided where next to go. A quick internet search had given them a few useful leads; hikers disappearing in the forests of Washington, a woman found gutted in her apartment in the middle of a strange circle that the local paper dubbed satanic.

When Gabriel called Chuck later that afternoon, he sounded like he’d just woken up from the low buzzing Castiel could hear through the cellphone’s tinny speakers.

“Hey, Chuck.” Gabriel leaned against the car, a cherry red ‘79 Thunderbird. “Yeah, we’re good. Listen, what can you tell us about angels?”

_I use one every year to top my Christmas tree._

“No,” he chuckled. “I mean real ones.” He ran his hand through his hair and squinted at the sky.

_Really? Not much lore on angels that isn’t Biblical. They were created by God, and when Lucifer rebelled they fought the Morning War. If you ask me, they’re usually pretty dickish._

“Wait, you’ve met one?”

_Yep. Couple years ago. He wasn’t too friendly._

“Okay.” Gabriell heaved a sigh. “Cas wants me to ask you a few things-”

_Why don’t you put him on._

The cellphone was warm in his hand. “Hello, Chuck.”

“Hi Castiel,” came the familiar voice. Chuck sounded like he had been up late again; sleepless nights made him sound rough and scratchy. “What do you need?”

“Two days ago we summoned two angels, Dean and Sam. They told us that all these omens we’re seeing are part of the apocalypse, but they refuse to assist us in finding a way to stop that. However, they did help us kill four archdemons.”

The sound of clinking glasses came over the speaker; undoubtedly Chuck was pouring himself a drink. “I’ve heard of Sam,” he said at last. “He’s one of the seven archangels. Samael.”

Castiel felt a shiver go through his chest. An archangel? “He was really helpful. And quiet.”

“He’s the angel of death.”

“Oh.”

* * *

They decided to take the case in Washington, just to get a little breath of fresh air. Gabriel was fond of big cities, but to Castiel the best place to be was the woods and this case would gave them a few days to hike around. Chuck called them again just outside of Boise.

What he told them was far from comforting.

Sam and Dean were heavily involved in the war, commanding huge factions of angel soldiers. The eldest, Dean was a seraphim, and a powerful one at that. He was the embodiment of sorrow and grief, and according to the old charts he was the angel of Thursday. Sam on the other hand was rageful, toeing the line between good and evil; where Dean was of the righteous, Sam was half in shadow.

It seemed to clash with his view of the brothers; Dean, the loud, obnoxious one striding about in that duster. Sam, calm and quiet, giving off serenity and intelligence like perfume.

He still didn’t know if he could trust either of them.

They pulled into Everett late the next night and settled into another crappy motel. Castiel had just finished lugging in their duffels when he heard a flutter of wings.

“Windigo, I bet.”

Castiel turned to find Dean leaning casually against the doorframe. As the angel sauntered into the room, he turned his back and started the usual post-arrival routine; salt to line the windows, a faded pillow cloth laid beneath the welcome mat outside, a devil’s trap painted on the underside. Dean watched approvingly.

When Castiel settled onto the bed, he crossed to room and sat in the chair by the desk, his boots thumping on the floor. It was weird to hear him make so much noise; no matter what he did, Dean just didn’t seem angelic. He was loud and rude and even as Castiel watched, he pulled a flask from his jacket, uncapped it, and took a long sip. And then he winked.

A nauseating wave of annoyance rose in his gut and he turned away. “Chuck told us about you,” he muttered to his duffel.

“Chuck Sherley? Dude,” he chuckled. “Guy’s nuts. What’d he tell you?”

“That your brother was the angel of death. That you fought in the war.”

“I could have told you that much.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.” Castiel turned from his bag, his hands balling into fists. Dean watched him nonchalantly.

“So?”

“So. You should have.”

Dean’s green eyes narrowed. “I should have?” With a flash, the flask disappeared into his duster and he stood, advancing a step forward as he did so. “I don’t have to tell you nothin’. In case you forgot, I’m an angel. I have more juice than you in one little finger, and I don’t have to listen to this shit.”

“Then why are you here?”

That seemed to unsettle him; the angel paused, folded his arms, and considered him. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure,” Dean said cautiously. “My superiors... They’ve asked us to keep and eye on you and your brother.”

Gabriel chose that moment to return to the room. He took one look at the pair of them and crossed his arms, a gleam of annoyance flaring in his golden eyes. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite feathered asshole. How’d you find us?”

“I can find anyone,” the angel replied uncertainly. “Your souls are very bright.”

“Souls?” You can find us by our souls?”

Dean blinked. “Of course. Any angel, or demon for that matter, can sense a human’s soul. To a demon, they’re blinding, hideous- brutal reminders of the virtue they have lost. To us, they shine like beacons.”

“Huh.” Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck and pulled a lollipop from the breast pocket of his jacket. “And what’s my soul look like?” he asked sarcastically.

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean swallowed hard and turned to peer at him. “That’s... not something we normally talk about.”

“What, is it a secret?” Gabriel stuck out his tongue.

Dean looked for all the world like he was blushing; his eyes dropped away and he mumbled at his boots: “It’s blue, like they all are. Like a nebula. Bright. It’s all... gold around the edges.”

“And mine?”

Dean turned his gaze to Castiel, and squinted. For his part, Castiel felt like he was being x-rayed. “The bluest blue to ever blue,” the angel said at last with a wry grin.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” he frowned.

“It doesn’t have to.” replied Dean, turning away from the brother and moving towards the door. “Most people don’t talk about souls.” He chuckled. “Next you’ll be asking to see my wings.”

“Can we?”

His smile turned frosty. “No.” With that he vanished with the whooshing of wings.

* * *

The hunt proved easier than he’d expected; two days out camping in the rainy woods and they bagged the monster. Wendigo, just as Dean had suggested.

Wendigos always unnerved Castiel; they were something dark and sinister, the twisted shell of what once had been a vibrant human being. When he’d looked into the creatures eyes- it had knocked him down and he’d scrambled from it, bleeding from a slash to the shoulder- he watched the flickering intelligence lock on to him until Gabriel put a bullet in its skull.

It made him wonder if all the monsters of the world were once living people. Many of them were; shifters, werewolves, vampires, ghosts. Many demons were human once as well.

Was the same true for angels?

He doubted it. Any Biblical text said that God created angels separately, that they were soldiers and governors of Heaven and protectors of Earth, but not of it.

The last night that they stayed in Everett, he made a call to Chuck.

“Hey, Chuck. Yeah, we’re fine. The wendigo has been taken care of. Yeah. Listen, I was wondering... I need you to tell me everything you can about the Winchesters.”


End file.
